


For Pete's Sake

by wesley2015remaster



Category: The Monkees (TV)
Genre: M/M, and davy is the stray that peter brought home, bc they r just dads, davy has rabies., mike is just straight up a dad and i love him, mike is the dad micky is the mum peter is their adopted kid, monkees backstory fic whadda hale, mostly them being domestic, not literally but he's just a rat, primarily jork but theres a substantial amount of dolenzmith, the monkees are a perfect family, these tags make it sound like a crack fic i swear its not a crack fic, tv universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27397378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesley2015remaster/pseuds/wesley2015remaster
Summary: Micky, Peter and Mike are a three man band. Or they were, before Davy Jones.
Relationships: Davy Jones/Peter Tork, Micky Dolenz/Mike Nesmith
Comments: 13
Kudos: 31





	1. Davy Jones: British Rat

Micky Dolenz was shovelling an unholy combination of condiments and most likely expired ingredients that he insisted was a sandwich into his mouth while Mike Nesmith looked on in horror.

“You’re disgusting,” Mike scowled. Micky grinned widely in response, mouth full of sandwich, mustard on his teeth.

Micky continued to eat while Mike’s face increasingly soured in disgust. This was a common occurrence. The pair then heard the click of the door opening and closing as Peter entered the pad from the beach. Peter let out a small and ordinary “hey fellas,” as Micky and Mike turned to face him. Their expressions gradually changed to clear confusion; Peter’s casual greeting did _not_ fit with the image that was unfolding before them.

“Peter …” Mike began, not sure how to approach the topic of the equally confused looking boy that Peter was carrying bridal style into the pad. Peter had gotten himself into some strange antics before, but this was not of the same calibre at all, and neither Micky nor Mike were prepared to deal with this kind of scenario. “Are you gonna tell us what ya got there?”

“Oh,” Peter said, breathing out a chuckle alongside the syllable. “This is David Jones.”

“And why is he _here_?” Mike pressed. Peter had been out at the beach all morning, and David Jones was dressed like he had been doing the same, with a loose button up shirt and shorts. Micky had abandoned his sandwich in favour of looking on at the situation over Mike’s shoulder in amusement.

“Well he needed a place to stay, so, you know,” Peter shrugged. “I thought, because I do all my chores and keep my room clean that you’d let me keep him.”

“Why on _earth_ would you think that?” Mike asked incredulously. Micky was looking between Mike and Peter, who still held the bewildered looking stranger in his arms. His dark brows were furrowed, and he was frantically looking between the three of them. His mouth gaped open as he waited for the opportunity to speak, though he didn’t look like he was sure of what he could possibly say.

“He can stay in my room and he can help with rent,” Peter reasoned.

“We can’t afford another mouth to feed,” Mike said, feeling a headache coming on.

“But he can sing,” Peter argued. He gestured down at the boy in his arms with a nod. “Show them, Davy.”

Davy opened his mouth again to speak but was cut off by Mike.

“But you can’t just kidnap people off the side of the road,” Mike said.

“Actually, I found him on the beach.”

“Can you _please_ let me down?” David Jones finally spoke for the first time in a thick English accent. Micky, who seemed like he was waiting for something to happen, was pleased with this development, and let out a loud burst of laughter that had been building throughout the conversation.

“He’s _British_!” He exclaimed, as Peter let Davy down. “You went all the way to England just this morning to steal a guy, did ya, Pete?”

“If I knew this was how Americans did things I would have stayed in England,” Davy spat at Micky, now standing at his full height and dusting off his shirt. Mike cringed at the sand that fell to the floor. Peter seemed hurt by the comment, which distracted Mike from the dirty floor in favour of defending Peter (despite Peter being the cause of his woes).

“Hey, don’t be rude,” Mike frowned.

“Yeah, what are you, twelve years old?” Micky asked. Davy’s hands clenched into fists, and his glare made him look like he was about to sock Micky in the jaw. The Monkees didn’t know how well they fought over in England, but if Micky kept pushing it, they would find out that David was one tiny scrapper. “You looked taller when you weren’t standing up.”

“I’m nineteen, thank you very much,” Davy said defensively, not even attempting to argue over his height. That was a losing battle. Then he said to Mike, “And Peter obviously wanted me here.”

“Who knows why,” Mike grumbled, but Davy’s acknowledgement of Peter made him smile again, and he took this as an opening to explain himself.

“He’s really a good singer,” Peter said happily. “He got all these girls to hang around him by singing and I think he’d be good for our band.”

“We already have a singer,” Micky frowned. “What instruments do ya play?”

“I can play tambourine,” Davy said, crossing his arms. Micky scoffed.

“ _Please_ Micky,” Peter pouted, which made Micky soften, though Mike still looked sceptical. “He said he didn’t have a consistent place to stay at the moment.”

“Is this true?” Mike asked the newcomer. Davy didn’t look too pleased with Peter revealing this fact about him twice now but nodded curtly when Mike asked.

“We can just teach him a few songs and if he’s not a good fit …” Peter pleaded. Peter looked to Micky, who looked to Mike and shrugged. After a tense moment of silence, Mike rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” he said, rubbing between his eyes. “He can stay a few nights.”

Davy looked like he didn’t know how to react to this news, but the look of sheer joy Peter was giving him made the corners of his mouth quirk up. He turned his smile to Mike and nodded, who gave a small nod back. Peter walked to the stage and slung his bass over his shoulder while grabbing a tambourine to give to Davy.

“Thank you,” Davy said, swiping layers of dust off of the tambourine and giving it a little shake. “You know I can play maracas quite well too.”

Micky snickered. Davy glared.

“Alright,” Mike started. “Micky usually sings this song, and I don’t think he’s givin’ that up to you, but the backing vocals are pretty simple to pick up. It’s got an easy beat to catch on to – Micky show him how the drum part goes so he can accompany, will you?”

Mike awkwardly ran him through a few songs before they practiced them properly and Davy was a bit of a fish out of water at first. The height of the microphone was too high for him and they didn’t have any extras, so Peter ended up having to lean down to sing, and Davy kept accidentally elbowing him or hitting his bass. Not to mention how he came in too early with the backing vocals, or came in too late, or forgot the words. But he was a fast learner and after a few takes he got the hang of things and started to get into a groove of dancing around with Peter and generally acting as if they were performing for a real crowd. The sun was going down by the time they finished.

“You’re a bit of a showboat, aren’t ya?” Mike smirked when they finally had a silent moment while packing everything up. Micky and Peter had gone into Peter’s room to set up a mattress on the floor for Davy.

“I was into theatre in high school,” Davy replied. Mike nodded. _That explains it._

“I’m sorry about Peter,” Mike said, clearing his throat awkwardly. “He’s not – He doesn’t – “

“It’s okay,” Davy shrugged. “He just asked me if I wanted to be in his band and when I said okay, he picked me up and carried me here. Took me by surprise, but it’s not as dramatic as you all made it out to be.”

Mike stood awkwardly hunched over so he seemed smaller than he actually was and picked at the calluses on his fingers for a moment. Davy continued coiling up a microphone cord and tried his best to ignore the silence, or the six-foot man towering a few feet away, looking like he was trying to figure out how to say what he needed to.

“You’re welcome to stay here for now until you get back up on your feet,” Mike said, finally, though the invitation was already obvious from the other two setting up a makeshift bed in the next room. “If you want to.”

“Thanks,” Davy said. “I’ll need a ride to pick up my things. I don’t have much, just clothes and stuff, but I can’t drive. My girlfriend broke up with me today at the beach and I was crashing with her, so …”

“Well it’s getting late now, shotgun,” Mike chuckled, his posture straightening a little. He grabbed the cord Davy was wrapping up and put it in a box. “I don’t think she would welcome us with open arms if we spoiled her supper. We can go in the morning and for now you can just borrow some of Peter’s clothes – he’s the shortest out of the three of us, so they’ll fit the best. I’m probably the skinniest, but I’m too tall, and Micky’s not too much shorter.”

“Thanks, Mike,” Davy said, smiling downwards at the floor. He then walked into Peter’s bedroom, and from the sound of Davy and Peter’s laughter while Micky shouted at them, Mike deduced that he had flopped down on the bed while they were still putting sheets on it. There were soft thuds as pillows were thrown and Micky began laughing with them. Mike rolled his eyes and began scrounging up something that could pass as food for dinner.

Micky and Mike often stayed up later than Peter most nights, and that night after dinner, Davy had followed Peter into his room. He tended to stay close by Peter the whole day – most likely because he was the only monkee who had not shown mild hostility to his dramatic entrance in their lives. Micky was on the couch, strumming a guitar and humming quietly.

“Writing something?” Mike asked. He had made tea for the two of them and set Micky’s cup down on the coffee table. He settled next to his friend on the lounge, taking a sip of his drink and wincing at the boiling heat.

“Nah,” Micky scoffed. “You and Pete got all the writing talent. I just play the drums and look pretty.”

“And sing,” Mike pointed out. “The makes you a triple threat. I’m only a double threat – guitar and writing. I ain’t pretty, and I can’t sing.”

“You can too sing, Michael Nesmith,” Micky scolded. His brow furrowed as he tuned a string, but Mike guessed the frown was in part because of his self-deprecative nature, and not due to focus. “I’m not having this argument with you again. Face it, babe, you’re a quadruple threat.”

“You callin’ me pretty?” Mike smirked. Micky grabbed at his tea, took a sip and raised his eyebrows up and down at Mike. His elbows rested on the body of the guitar. Mike softly chuckled, then asked, “What do you think of Jones?”

“I think he might try and overthrow me for lead singer,” Micky said with a teasing smile.

“Micky be serious,” Mike chided, resting one foot on his knee and leaning an inch closer to Micky. “If you’re really jealous of him, or think we’re sidelining you for him then …”

“He’s fine, Mike,” Micky reassured. “I was just joking around, he doesn’t seem like a bad kid, and he might have the charisma to bring in some crowds – “ Micky tilted his head from side to side “ – Charisma or arrogance, I can’t be sure, but if it works, it works.”

“Okay,” Mike nodded. “But if he causes trouble … You’re more important to me than some cat I just met today … You and Peter.”

“Peter’s fond of him, though,” Micky noted with one raised finger. “I don’t think he would forgive you if you kicked the kid out now, and I’ve never known Peter to hold grudges.”

“Yeah,” Mike sighed. He didn’t want to think of the logistics of the future, but Micky kept pressing.

“How long do you think he’ll be staying?” Micky asked.

“I think we’ll just have to play it by ear,” Mike said.

“Peter seems to want to keep him,” Micky remarked, raising his eyebrows and taking another sip from his tea. Mike set his own cup down and held his face in his hands.

“It’s because he’s pretty, ain’t it?” He groaned into the palms of his hands. Micky snickered, and though Mike couldn’t see him, he assumed Micky had nodded as well.


	2. Davy Jones: British Rat II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davy Jones Fucks Up

There Mike and Davy were, sitting in the monkeemobile outside of Davy’s ex-girlfriend’s house. Mike was feeling sour because Davy had made a snide comment about the name of their car when he found out, but Davy had no reason to believe Mike’s sullen silence wasn’t normal for him. Besides, he was too busy trying to work up the courage to get out of the car. He pushed up the sleeves of the shirt he had borrowed from Peter, but they only slipped back down. He scowled at the sleeves, but that didn’t seem to convince them to stay where he wanted to. Running a hand through his hair, he decided he needed to take a teaspoon of cement and harden up. He blew out a breath and turned to Mike.

“Give me a boost through that window,” Davy said, breaking the silence.

“Hey, now – wait _what?”_ Mike exclaimed.

“Her bedroom is on the second floor, I need a boost through that window,” Davy elaborated, pointing to the house.

“Why don’t you just knock and ask her to let you get your things?” Mike reasoned. After several months of living with Micky and Peter he knew that reasoning was pointless, but he tried anyway. He hoped Davy would be easier to convince than Micky or Peter, but ever since he moved to California, he seemed to attract the same types of personalities. Long haired weirdos.

“I can’t see her, man, she’ll kill me!” Davy argued.

“So, she’ll be less likely to kill you if she catches you breaking and entering?” Mike retorted. The headache was coming back.

“I don’t have much,” Davy said. His accent was thicker when he was arguing. “Just stand lookout at the window and help me down when I’m done, and we’ll be in and out in a minute.”

Mike opened his mouth to contend, but Davy was already hopping out the car door and over to the window. Mike rolled his eyes and followed him, arms crossed and feet stomping unhappily.

“Gimme a boost,” Davy instructed. Mike complied and wrung his hands together for Davy to step into, but he sure didn’t look pleased about it.

“Are you sure you’re not too short to reach?” Mike asked.

“I’ve done this before, and I’m a high jumper,” Davy said. “Trust me.”

Then he stopped talking as he jumped up, hanging from the windowsill. He pulled himself up with an ‘oof’. Mike looked up, and Davy was climbing through the open window.

“Y’alright Dave?” Mike called up, cringing at the volume of his voice. Davy stuck a thumbs up out the window.

Davy didn’t take all too long collecting his things, but every second was painstakingly prolonged for Mike, as he stood near a bush, desperately trying to be less visible. He just knew that the girl would come home, or that she would already be in the house, and Davy would be caught. He chewed his nails.

Almost on cue, Mike peeked into a window on the first floor, and there the girl was, heading towards the staircase. Mike’s breath hitched.

“Davy,” he called, as quietly as he could while still being heard by Davy. After he got no response, he picked up a pebble and threw it at the window. “Davy!”

Davy’s head poked out of the window. Mike could almost hear the footfalls of the girl walking up the stairs, but that may have just been his beating heart.

“She’s coming!” Mike stage whispered. Davy’s eyes widened comically, then his head disappeared again. A second later, he reappeared, and he climbed out, balancing on the windowsill with his arms full of clothes and a bag slung over his shoulder.

But he was too late. Davy almost lost balance as they heard a shriek and then “David Jones, I swear to god!”

Davy yelped.

“I’m gonna jump!” He yelled down to Mike.

“What?! Davy I – “ but Mike couldn’t argue for much longer, because in that split-second Davy was launching himself from the window and Mike was desperately hoping he was in the right position to at least break his fall. Then Mike was almost brought down by a heavy weight landing in his arms, and the girl was leaning out the window and yelling at them.

“Didn’t have time to pack them in the bag,” Davy said, nodding to the clothes in his arms. “Go, go, go!”

Mike ran, carrying Davy to the car. The girl’s head had disappeared from the window, and the pair could hear thumping as she ran through the house to the front door. The monkeemobile’s roof was down, which ended up working in their favour, as Mike lifted Davy over the door into the passenger side, then jumped over the driver side’s door himself.

“Drive, Michael, drive!” Davy shrieked, glancing frantically to the door of the house.

“Shut up, I’m trying!” Mike yelled, turning the key in the ignition, taking off the handbrake, and almost flooring it out onto the street. The girl had made it out of the door, but they were already getting away, and neither could hear what she was shouting at them as the tires skidded away. Mike’s hands gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white.

“I don’t think I have the gall to be a getaway driver,” Mike said when they were out on the open road, and far away. “Does this happen a lot with you and girls?”

“More often than you’d think,” Davy chuckled while stuffing clothes into a bag.

“Is it you or the girls’ that’s the problem?” Mike asked. “Because you seem like the only common denominator.”

“I know I’m the common denominator,” Davy said. Then he shrugged. “But you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, and you can’t tie a mustang down.”

Mike scoffed and shook his head. “You’re a teenager, you’re anything but an old dog.”

“And you are?” Davy smirked. Davy had quickly made a habit of inadvertently trying to get under Mike’s skin – he couldn’t help it.

“Hey,” Mike chided. “I’m not much older’n you.”

“Whatever you say, dad,” Davy jeered.

“I hope you know that I’m rolling my eyes,” Mike said. He glanced over for a second at Davy, and almost couldn’t help but say, “And put your seatbelt on.”

Mike got used to Davy’s teasing sooner than he expected. They all did (though Peter was on board from the very beginning). Micky and Mike got so used to him being around that soon talk of when he would be leaving diminished, which Peter was especially glad about. And eventually came the time when they were finally able to land a gig for Davy’s debut with the Monkees.

There had been a few gigs before then, of course, but for the first couple of weeks Davy was with them he was benched until he knew the set lists better. He resented being on the side lines, but even he knew when to not make waves. And now he was getting an opportunity to be a part of the group for real and he was all too aware of what was on the line. Mike had even thrown him a bone and let him have a song where he sang lead, knowing he was antsy to prove himself. Davy Jones didn’t often get nervous, but lord, did he hope that he didn’t mess everything up.

Soon enough, there the four of them were, setting up the drums and the amps and the microphones in some cramped club where there was hardly any room at all to dance. The place was small, but there was a considerable audience, which did nothing to reassure Davy. The size of the joint made the crowd seem larger in comparison. Surveying the crowd, he caught a glimpse of someone who looked familiar, but she was walking into the bathroom and was gone before he could get a good look at her. He bit his lip.

“You ready, Davy?” Peter asked.

“Yeah,” he said. He was lying. But the lie made Peter smile, and that convinced Davy to believe it was the truth. Peter adjusted the mic to be lower and shuffled over to make room for Davy beside him.

Mike had finished introducing the band. “Alright fellas,” Mike said, turning away from the mic so only they could hear (though the venue was so cramped Davy wouldn’t be surprised if others had heard). He nodded to Micky, who nodded back and counted them in.

Despite Davy’s nerves, the first song went off without a hitch. He had this feeling within him he hadn’t known since high school. Pride? Exhilaration? Joy? He had felt all of those things since high school, but this was more specific, more condensed. It was building him up for the next song. Until he saw her, and it all came crashing down.

He had forgotten about the girl who had gone into the bathroom; he had been too caught up in the song and dance. But it was now he saw her, looking the same as when he had seen her before he jumped out of her window. He gulped.

While he was looking at her, he had missed Micky counting them in and then they were starting, and he was coming in late and off key and Peter was looking at him with concern in his expression. Somehow, she hadn’t noticed them yet – hadn’t even looked up to notice the band was there (she was never much of a patron of the arts and didn’t care terribly for music – one of the fundamental differences between her and Davy that had probably caused them to break up, besides Davy being Davy). However, it was only a matter of time until she did.

The song ended quickly. Too quickly for Davy, who was still clambering to catch up with the rest of them. Mike had a grimace on his face but wouldn’t look at him. Then the next song was beginning, as would the next and the next until the night was over. Davy didn’t have a false start this time, but his attempts to collect himself only failed again and again the closer to his song they got.

And then it was time. It was like he had merely blinked and suddenly it was the point in the setlist when he would have to sing lead.

“Get it together for your song, man,” Mike hissed at him, gripping at his sleeve, the fabric bunched in his hand.

“Mike, I –“ Davy said, trying to explain himself.

“I don’t care, just don’t screw this up any worse,” Mike said harshly, letting his grip on Davy go. He then went back to the mic to introduce the next song.

If her head didn’t snap towards the stage when Mike said his name, it sure did when he started singing. His voice cracked and wavered as she stared at him, and her face became more and more angered. He stopped singing all together to shriek, as she threw a piece of food at the stage.

It flew past Davy, and Micky stopped drumming as he ducked so as to not be hit.

“Boo!” she yelled at them. That drew some attention, as people noticed the band had suddenly stopped with a yelp. And as crowds often did, they began to join in on the heckling. She threw another piece of food at them that hit the edge of Peter’s bass, and that was enough to convince others to throw things too. Davy hid his face behind his arms. A tomato hit the snare drum that Micky was using as a shield.

“Thank you and goodnight,” Mike said into the mic, before herding the other three monkees off stage and out the back. They made it out into the alley without anything hitting them, luckily. Mike and Peter’s instruments were still slung over their shoulders.

“Certainly made an impression, Davy,” Micky joked.

“We’re not getting paid, are we,” Peter said sadly.

“We’re not getting another gig again,” Mike said angrily. In the dark alley, Davy couldn’t see Mike’s face well, but he knew it was probably frowning so deeply it would get stuck that way. “What the hell was that Davy?”

“Mike, I’m sorry,” Davy said. He felt nauseous.

“Sorry’s not good enough!” Mike snapped. “You messed _everything_ up. The rest of us shouldn’t have to deal with your girl problems. And you must have treated that girl real bad for her to be so angry at you.”

“You don’t know shit about me or my relationships, Michael,” Davy spat back, anger welling inside of him. “What are you trying to imply?”

“I’m not _implying_ anything,” Mike said, pushing Davy by the shoulder, then pointing a finger at his chest. “I’m telling you that you’re selfish! And you just ruined everything for Peter and Micky and me.”

“Fine, if I’m such a screw up, kick me out of the band, then!” Davy yelled, crossing his arms. “You assholes can pack up without me, I’m walking home.”

Davy stomped out of the alley into the night, not even trying to avoid a puddle but instead splashing right through it.

“Davy!” Micky called after him, but he wasn’t listening. Mike’s hands were balled tightly into fists, and he was fuming.

“Is he serious?” Peter meekly asked, speaking up for the first time since Mike and Davy had started really going at it. “I think he’s being serious; we can’t just let him walk home in the dark himself, he could get into trouble, he could get mugged, we have to – “

“Oh, I think he can handle himself,” Mike drawled sourly.

“Mike,” Micky piped up, gently touching his shoulder. “Peter’s – “

“Help me pack up the drum set,” Mike snapped, shrugging away Micky’s shoulder and tramping inside. Micky turned to Peter, who looked like he was about to cry.

“It’ll be okay, Pete,” Micky reassured him, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “I’ll talk to Mike, he just needs to calm down a bit, you know?”

“You don’t think he’s really going to quit, do you?” Peter asked, lip quivering.

“I don’t know,” Micky sighed, rolling his lips together. _So much for trying to reassure him._ “I’ll talk to Mike, and we’ll find Davy and talk to him.”

“Do you …” Peter started. “D-Did he mean that? When he called us assholes? He doesn’t think I’m an asshole, does he?”

“Me and Mike, maybe,” Micky smiled, patting Peter’s shoulder. “But you’ve been nothing but nice to him.”

Micky and Peter walked back inside to help pack up their equipment (with Peter’s bass hitting the door frame on the way). The crowd had almost immediately calmed down when they left, and pretended they weren’t even there as they re-entered

“I shouldn’t’ve made him sing lead if he wasn’t ready,” Mike sighed to Micky, out of Peter’s ear shot.

“He wanted to do it,” Micky reasoned. “And I don’t think this is an issue with him not being ready. I don’t think any of us were ready for – “ Micky motioned to the stage that was covered in food “ – this.”

“Still,” Mike said. “I shouldn’t’ve thrown him in the deep end like that. I stressed him out.”

“You always could have sung instead,” Micky said, while trying his best to wipe off sliced tomato and juice from his snare.

“You could have always done one of those songs you wrote,” Mike shot back.

“I’m not performing any of my writing until you admit you can sing,” Micky said, smirking.

“And I’m not singing until you admit you’re a good songwriter,” Mike shrugged. “Seems like we’re at an impasse.”

Mike pronounced ‘impasse’ funny. Micky wasn’t sure if it was because of his accent or because Mike was weird like that sometimes, but it made him smile.

“Peter was right,” Micky said, steering Mike back on track after buttering him up with small talk. “We need to find Davy.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mike admitted, almost whispering. “I was a little harsh, wasn’t I?”

Micky nodded, “Definitely, but I still like you.”

Mike chuckled.

They eventually found Davy trudging along on the sidewalk, shivering in the cool night air. Mike slowed the car down to match his pace.

“Davy, come on,” Mike said to him. “Get in the car, we’ll drive you back to the pad.

Davy shook his head and kept on walking.

“Please, Davy,” Mike pleaded. “I’m sorry about what I said, babe, please just get in the car.”

“I’m not getting in the car, Mike,” Davy snapped. “Shove your apology up your arse.”

“We’re not gonna stop following you ‘til you get in,” Mike said. Probably not the best way to convince him to get in the car, especially as Davy was someone who was as equally stubborn as Mike was, but he doubled down anyway. “And we’re not the one’s who’re gonna get sore feet.”

Davy walked faster.

“Davy he is sorry, I promise,” Micky reasoned. “C’mon we can talk it out, we’re not gonna kick you outta the band, just hop in and we’ll take you home.”

“What if I don’t wanna be in the band anymore?” Davy spat. He was a little bit ahead of the hood of the car with his quickened pace, though Mike could easily catch up if he really tried to run away. Davy considered running in the opposite direction to try to lose them, but he would probably get lost if he did. So, he held out against insurmountable odds and continued forwards.

“Can you at least get in for Peter’s sake?” Micky asked, his head was resting on his elbows that he had placed on the edge of the passenger side window, and he looked out at Davy’s silhouette. “He was really worried about you.”

Davy faltered, slowing his pace a little, but still marching along. “Peter can speak for himself.”

“Davy, please,” Peter spoke, which made Davy stop altogether. Mike stopped with him, and the car skidded to a halt so that Davy was face to face with Peter in the backseat. “Get in the car.”

Davy pursed his lips, looking Peter in the eye, before giving in and tramping to the other side of the car. He climbed in and sat down; his arms crossed over his chest.

“Seatbelt, please,” Mike said. Davy didn’t put his seatbelt on. Peter watched him refuse to follow Mike’s order but didn’t push it.

Davy was first inside and went straight to his and Peter’s room. Peter walked in to find him laying on his mattress fully clothed with his back to the door. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the light. Peter turned it on and sat next to him.

“I’m sorry Mike yelled at you,” he said.

“He had every right to,” Davy mumbled. He sniffed. “I _did_ ruin everything.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t feel bad,” Peter stated. Davy sat up suddenly.

“It felt _awful,_ ” Davy said, his voice shaking. “I don’t want to leave the band. And that was my one shot.”

“Mike won’t really make you leave,” Peter reassured him. “He just has a temper and gets dramatic sometimes.”

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel bad,” Davy repeated with a bitter chuckle, wiping at his eyes.

Suddenly, Peter pulled Davy into a tight hug, cradling Davy’s head with his hand. “It’ll be okay, Davy-Baby.”

Davy couldn’t help but smile. “Davy-Baby?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, pulling away. His face became concerned. “Do you not like it?”

“No, Peter,” Davy chuckled, avoiding Peter’s gaze and smiling to himself. “I don’t mind.”

“Okay,” Peter said innocently, his face breaking out into a wide and genuine smile that fitted Peter so well. He leaned down and kissed Davy on the cheek. “Goodnight, Davy-Baby.”

Peter rose from the mattress, and Davy pulled the covers over himself, still fully dressed. Peter turned off the light and Davy realised he had been blushing.

Out on the couch, Micky and Mike were talking. They sat side by side, shoulder to shoulder, practically leaning against each other. Micky’s foot rested on his right knee, and his left knee was practically in Mike’s lap because of it. Mike rested his hand on top of it.

“Peter really likes Davy, huh?” Micky said.

“Yeah,” Mike agreed. “A little too much.”

“You’re not still mad at him, are you?” Micky asked. Mike shook his head.

“It’s not about that,” Mike said. “I ain’t mad anymore. But Davy … he seems pretty non-committal, doesn’t he? When it comes to romance, at least.”

“You think Peter has a crush on him?” Micky asked.

“You don’t?” Mike countered.

“Can’t argue with that,” Micky shrugged.

“It’ll cause trouble,” Mike grumbled. “I like Davy just fine, but I don’t want Peter to get hurt because he’s hung up.”

“Oh, come _on,_ Mike,” Micky groaned, rolling his eyes. “Peter can handle it. Just let him have his fun – haven’t you ever had a crush before? Don’t you know what it’s like?”

Mike turned his head to face Micky. Their noses were almost touching, and he was all of a sudden aware of his hand on Micky’s knee, and Micky’s knee resting on his own legs. His eyes diverted downwards, but he stayed nose to nose with Micky. “Yeah … I think I do.”

Mike turned his head away to face forward once again. He felt Micky’s leg shift beneath his hand as he stood.

“C’mon Mike, let’s go to bed,” Micky said. With a nod of his head in the direction of the staircase, he held out his hand to help Mike off the couch. Mike took it.

In the morning, Mike walked down the stairs to find Peter and Micky in the kitchen.

“Where’s Davy?” Mike yawned, rubbing his eyes. He hadn’t gotten much sleep. “He didn’t run away did he?”

“No, but I think he’s avoiding you,” Peter said. “He just said he was going out. He feels real guilty, Mike.”

Mike sighed, holding his face in his hands. When he removed them, Micky was staring at him. They made eye contact, and Micky raised his eyebrows.

“C’mon, get dressed,” Mike said suddenly, walking back up to his room. “We’re goin’ out, I’ll tell you on the way.”

Davy didn’t get home until late that night, and he seemed exhausted. His face fell when he found the three of them waiting in the lounge room for him, specifically when he saw Mike was there with them. But before he could say anything, Peter was bounding over, ecstatic.

“We have something to show you,” he said, nearly bursting with excitement. Peter took Davy’s hand, dragging him into their bedroom with Micky and Mike close behind the pair. Inside the room was a newly constructed bed frame, with the mattress that used to be on the floor on top of it and with freshly washed sheets. “Do you like it?”

Davy stood, staring in amazement for a moment.

“I’m just surprised you three could put it all together without breaking something,” Davy joked, but his breath had been thoroughly taken away. Despite his quip, he turned to Mike and pulled his lanky frame into a hug. Then he turned to Micky and did the same. Then he turned to Peter and stopped. They made eye contact and smiled to each other.

“Thank you,” Davy said, pulling Peter into a hug as well.

“It was Mike’s idea,” Peter said.

Davy pulled away and turned back to Mike.

“Dinner’s in the fridge,” Mike mumbled.

“Thank you, Mike,” Davy said. “For everything. I’m sorry about what I said.”

“I’m sorry too,” Mike said. He chuckled. “If that wasn’t obvious already.”

“It was,” Davy said. He smiled, patted Mike on the arm and went to the fridge to eat his dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its MY fanfiction and i get to make peter call davy 'davy baby' i dont care its abt the self indulgence


	3. Mike Goes Full Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike and Peter face some facts, the Monkees give some exposition

Davy leant against the kitchen counter, back pressed to the edge as he waited for the kettle to boil. He was facing Peter, who was eating a (probably stale) bowl of cereal. It was still early morning, and the sun was coming in golden through the window. It landed directly onto Peter (and all over the linoleum of the kitchen floor, but that didn’t seem as important), and the light reflecting off of Peter’s blond hair felt blinding to Davy. He didn’t look away.

“What were you gonna do today?” Peter asked, as Davy poured the boiling water into two mugs.

“I got a gig walking some dogs for some cash this afternoon,” Davy shrugged. “Other than that, I haven’t thought about it. You?”

“Well, if you’re gonna be gone all afternoon … “ Peter said, scooping up bits of cereal into his spoon and looking at it dubiously. “I might just go hang out at the park. Could try busking.”

Davy slid the cup of tea he had finished making across the table in Peter’s direction and sat down across from him.

“Thanks, David,” Peter smiled. He wrapped both hands around the mug to take a sip, but Davy reached out and put his hands over Peter’s to stop him.

“Don’t do that,” Davy warned. “It’s too hot and you’ll burn your mouth like you always do.”

Peter mouthed an ‘oh’ to himself, then blew onto the tea to cool it down, all while looking at Davy and smiling sheepishly. Davy kept his hands on Peter’s until he was satisfied that the tea was cool enough.

“There, see?” Davy said after Peter took his first sip and didn’t appear to have been burnt. “Tea is better when you’re not in pain.”

“Maybe,” Peter shrugged. “But it might also be because you’re better at making it than any of us.”

“I’m English,” Davy smiled boastfully. “It’s a given.”

Davy watched Peter for a moment, drinking his own tea in silence.

“I’ve always wondered,” Davy started. “How did you and Micky and Mike meet?”

Peter set his tea down. “Well, I don’t know about Micky and Mike, but I had just moved to California and I was sleeping on a friends couch and looking for places to stay, and I ran across Mr Babbit, who said I could get a room real cheap here, if I was willing to deal with some roommates. They didn’t even realise the pad had two bedrooms, so they didn’t notice me the first night I was here.”

“What the hell?” Micky asked suddenly from the top of the staircase. He slid down the banister and came over to them before continuing. “Mr Babbit went behind our backs? We just assumed you showed up one day and we felt too bad to get rid of you.”

“And you never asked him how he got in or where he came from?” Davy asked. “That’s not fair! You lot almost kicked me out the second I got here!”

“Peter’s nicer to us,” Micky shrugged. “You should have seen him, though. He didn’t eat anything except bowls of cereal because he can’t cook, and he was too scared to ask to join us for dinner. When Mike figured out what was happening, he flipped out! Almost made a five-course meal for the kid, he was so scared of Pete dying of malnutrition. He would have, if we had the money, but we had to settle for three courses instead.”

“Is he serious?” Davy asked, raising an eyebrow at Peter. Peter nodded. “You could have gotten scurvy, you idiot!”

“Sometimes I would put orange juice in the cereal,” Peter said as a way to defend himself. Davy stared in wonder at Peter, his eyes almost popping out of his skull. Davy shook his head.

“What about you, Micky?” Davy asked. “How’d you meet Mike?”

“Well … “ Micky started, smiling and rubbing his hands together. “Sit down, because this is gonna be a story.”

“I am sitting,” Davy said. Micky ignored him, and pulled up a chair for himself, turning it so he could sit on it backwards, with both arms resting on the back.

“Mike was pretty new to California, and he had kind of fallen into my crowd of people,” Micky began. “We had some mutual friends and all that. I think one of my buddies knew him from working a couple of shifts at the record store or whatever. Anyway, Mike was goin’ around clubs and open mics and stuff for gigs, and this friend of mine brought me along to one of his sets – told me it was outta sight. So, I did, and it _was_ pretty outta sight. He was a little shy, but Mike’s always been good at music.” Micky paused his story to slap the side of his leg suddenly and enthusiastically. “And you should have heard his accent back then! You think it’s thick now, babe, I could hardly understand him!” Micky cackled. Then he blushed, quietening down after his outburst. “Anyway, I bought him a drink after and introduced myself, and we hit it off pretty well. Mike and I … we’ve always gotten along well from that first drink, even if I probably came on too strong. I told him I could sing pretty good and I played guitar okay – pretty poorly compared to him, but I could get by. Eventually we started up this little duo act, a little bit folk, a little bit country, a little bit rock and roll – we were all over the place. Mike used to sing his own songs, but he was always a little self-conscious about it, and I think I was his way out of having to sing things himself. I’m trynna convince him to start singing more again because it’s a real shame none of you have heard him really try, more than just singing along to the radio and stuff. His voice is really somethin’ else, you should hear him, man …” Micky trailed off. “Eventually I was staying at his place more and more because of late nights performing or practicing since it was just easier than going home. Mike really needed a roommate, but I think he was too shy to ask me to move in with him. But my apartment was practically crumbling to the ground and I think it had some black mould in the bathroom, so I told him: ‘Michael Nesmith, I’m putting my name on this lease whether you want me to or not.’ I hadn’t gone home for a few days and had been buying his groceries for a while at that point anyway, so I don’t think he was in a place to object. Believe me, if he could argue, he would have.”

“That sounds positively normal compared to my story,” Davy said. “Did you sleep on the couch all that time? When you were spending the night?”

“Sometimes,” Micky shrugged. “Sometimes Mike would insist he take the couch so I could actually get some good sleep for once. It wasn’t a very comfortable couch. Sometimes we would just be talking on Mike’s bed and we would fall asleep without noticing it. Anyway …”

Micky stood up and stretched, then took the last gulp of Davy’s tea.

“Hey!” Davy protested.

“I gotta get dressed,” Micky said, ignoring Davy’s glares. “Have fun.”

“Can you believe him?” Davy asked Peter as Micky walked away. Peter shook his head innocently.

Micky entered his and Mike’s room with a smirk plastered on his face before he looked up and found himself face to face with Mike. He jumped in surprise. “Don’t do that!”

Micky crossed the room to sit on the edge of Mike’s bed. “Did you really mean everything you said?” Mike asked. Micky crossed his legs.

“Were you eavesdropping, Michael?” Micky asked playfully. Mike shook his head.

“I know how much you don’t like being interrupted is all,” Mike said, though they both knew that wasn’t the truth. “You didn’t answer the question.”

“Why wouldn’t I mean it?” Micky answered the question with another question. “I say the same thing to your face every day.”

“I don’t know,” Mike said, leaning against the dresser, picking at his fingernails. “Maybe I thought you were just trynna butter me up so it’s easier to get what you want.”

“Me?” Micky gasped, faux-innocently. “ _Never.”_

Mike chuckled, then stood silently, focusing harder on his fingernails. Micky recognised that was how Mike got when he had something to say but didn’t know how to bring it up.

“Was that all you wanted to ask?” Micky prompted. “You look like you got something on your mind, babe.”

Mike took a deep sigh and looked up from his hands to give Micky an incredulous look. He rested his elbows on top of the dresser behind him and stared at his feet.

“That first night when we met, when you bought me that drink,” Mike said, and cleared his throat. “Were you flirting with me?”

Micky’s eyes went wide as his eyebrows shot into the air. Then he cracked his signature wide smile, and Mike raised an eyebrow in confusion. Micky was smiling, but he had a bittersweet hint of sadness in his eyes.

“Mike, I’ve been flirting with you this whole time,” Micky chuckled. Mike looked directly at Micky with his mouth slightly agape.

“Oh,” Mike said simply. He began picking at his fingers again.

“I assumed you knew,” Micky said. “And you just didn’t mention it because you wanted to lead me on or something. Makes it easier to get what you want.”

“Mick, I wouldn’t …” Mike contended quickly. “I’m a bit of an idiot. I didn’t know.”

“You make a convincing argument,” Micky nodded, biting at the nail of his thumb. “But it’s not like I was exactly being _subtle._ I dialled it back a bit after we got to know each other, but when have I _ever_ been subtle?”

“You think I was ever subtle?” Mike asked, which caused him to receive a shocked glance from Micky. It was quick, leaving as fast as it had come. “What did you think all that leaning on you on the couch was about? Telling you I knew what having a crush was like while you were two inches away from my face?”

“Oh,” Micky whispered. They stood in a silent moment.

“What do we do now?” Mike asked. “What do we do about – “ Mike gestured between them “ – this?”

Micky snorted and crossed the room to where Mike was still leaning on the dresser. “You got a weird way of going about things, Mike,” Micky said, sliding his arms over Mike’s shoulders. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

Mike blushed red and nodded. He somehow felt very small, like he was a little kid again, and yet at the same time he felt with full force the awkward gangliness his height gave him. He felt like an overgrown, skinny twelve-year-old, with limbs too long for him to be able to know what to do with. But when Micky pressed his lips to Mike’s, everything seemed to be fine. He placed his hands on Micky’s hips.

They finally pulled away.

“I’ve wanted that for a very long time, Mike,” Micky said.

“Me too,” Mike said.

“Will this _finally_ convince you that you should start singing again?” Micky asked with a playful smirk. Mike paused.

“Maybe,” Mike said bashfully, kissing Micky’s cheek. “If you play your cards right.”

Later that same day, Davy had come home in the late afternoon, and laid down on his bed. The morning’s conversation had gotten him thinking about his own story of how he had entered the monkees’ lives.

He had been a little bit pissed off at his girlfriend for breaking up with him after he had taken her to the beach (or rather, she had taken him, since she was driving, but it had been _his_ idea), and a little worried about where he was going to be staying (but not _too_ worried – this wasn’t the first time he would have to be out on the street for a night). But then, here were some cats inviting him to play volleyball with them, and here was an ocean for him to swim in, and here was a new girl to catch his interest, and that made it hard to be particularly worried or mad.

He was trying to impress this girl and had swung his arm around her and started singing a little tune. Maybe she would be charmed by him and invite him to stay with her for the night and he would be able to put off worrying about a more permanent place until tomorrow. His singing had attracted a crowd, as Davy tended to be able to do, including a tall blond kid around the same age as him – maybe a little older, but most people Davy’s age looked older than him.

Davy hadn’t noticed him at first, but once he had finished singing, the boy pushed to the front of the small crowd and held out his hand. Davy retracted his arm from around the girl. In fact, he hadn’t given her a second thought all this time. She had faded from his mind the second he started speaking to him.

“I’m Peter,” the blond boy said as Davy shook his hand. “Gee, you’re a good singer.”

“Thanks,” Davy said, and Peter noticed his thick accent. “David Jones, but most people call me Davy.”

“What are you doing in America?” Peter asked. “Did you just swim here today?”

Davy wasn’t sure if this was a joke or not. Peter’s tone gave nothing away. “Um …” Davy blushed. “Well, I was just looking for something new. Warmer weather, you know? My grandfather wants me to be a success, but at the moment my girlfriend’s broken up with me and I don’t have a house, so it’s not exactly going to plan.”

“I have a house, right up there,” Peter said, not seeming to feel awkward at all that Davy had just blurted all that personal stuff out. He pointed at a run-down looking two-story house on the edge of the beach. “Have you ever thought about being a singer?”

“I don’t know,” Davy said. He held his hand above his eyebrows in an attempt to block out the sun so he could see Peter better. Davy noted that he had a dimple, and it was particularly endearing. “Have you?”

“I’m in a band. But we don’t have four people like The Beatles do.”,” Peter answered. “I don’t sing, but I’m the bassist. And I play guitar and banjo and piano and French horn.”

“That’s outta sight,” Davy grinned.

“Did ya wanna join our band?” Peter asked. Davy was quickly realising that Peter was a little stranger than most, and very forward. Davy was taken aback by the sudden offer.

“Well, I mean,” Davy began, not sure exactly what to say. But what could possibly go wrong? “Sure, let’s do it.”

And then Davy’s stomach dropped as he felt he was being lifted from the sandy ground. His hands dug into Peter’s shirt.

“Peter!” Davy shrieked, as Peter was walking towards the pad. “What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna introduce you to my band,” Peter said, his tone showing that he wasn’t sure why Davy sounded upset.

“I could have walked,” Davy pointed out.

“Oh,” Peter said, pausing for a moment. Then he kept walking, with Davy still in his arms. “Well, the sand’s pretty hot.”

Davy stared in bewilderment at the boy whose arms he was in. He found he was convincing himself to just go with it. “Fair enough, I guess,” Davy said quietly, mostly to himself.

Present Davy wondered what it had meant that Peter had chosen him out of everybody. He wondered why Peter had been so insistent on Davy joining the band. Maybe he was just being nice because Davy was down on his luck, but Peter had been more than just courteous from the very beginning.

_No matter,_ Davy thought. _I got lucky, that’s all that matters._

Upstairs, Micky was laying on Mike’s bed with Mike’s head resting on his lap.

“We need to talk to Peter about Davy,” Mike said.

“Ya finally kicking him out?” Micky joked.

“Naw,” Mike said, rolling his eyes. “But I wanna talk to him. Ask him if he does have a crush and whatnot.”

“So, you’re a meddler now?” Micky chuckled, stroking Mike’s hair.

“I’m not _meddling_ ,” Mike scoffed. “But … you know … Peter’s never been able to talk to girls. I feel bad for the kid.”

Mike and Micky then heard the door open and close downstairs. Micky nudged Mike by moving his legs.

“Speak of the devil,” Micky said as Mike sat up. “Don’t forget to explain to him about the birds and the bees.”

Mike glared at him and stuck out his tongue at Micky as Micky grinned cheekily.

Mike descended the stairs as Peter was pottering around the kitchen. His usually neat hair was sticking up all over the place with a heap feathers stuck in it and on his clothes. He had scratches and red marks on his arms. Despite this, Peter was jovially whistling.

“What the hell happened to you?” Mike asked.

“Some very angry pigeons,” Peter answered nonchalantly. Mike shook his head, not wanting to ask for details.

“Pete, do you wanna come out to the balcony with me?” Mike asked.

“Am I in trouble?” Peter asked. “I didn’t forget my guitar at the park this time, I swear.”

“No, Peter,” Mike assured him, as he lowered the hand that Peter was pointing at the guitar that lay on the couch. “I just wanted to ask you something.”

They walked out together onto the balcony, Peter sitting on the edge of the railing that separated the patio from the beach. Mike picked out feathers from Peter’s hair.

“You like Davy, don’t you?” Mike asked, cutting right to the chase. “Like, uh, _romantically_.”

Mike pronounced every syllable of that word extra clearly, maybe from his accent, maybe because he had a weird way of saying things, especially when he was feeling tense. Peter seemed to turn the word around in his head for a little bit.

“I suppose I do,” Peter mused.

“You’re not just saying that because I suggested it?” Mike asked. “You’re serious about it?”

“It makes sense,” Peter shrugged. “I don’t feel the same way about Davy that I feel about you or Micky. He makes me all giddy and I wanna be around him a lot, I just never really thought about it. But I can’t talk to girls and I can talk to Davy.”

“I wouldn’t call kidnapping someone off the beach as a way to get them to move in ‘talking’ in the usual sense,” Mike said. “Not for regular, non-long-haired-weirdos at least.”

“But what if I’m not able to talk to Davy anymore!” Peter exclaimed, suddenly becoming worried. “He’s cool and he gets all the girls and I’m … me!”

“I wouldn’t sell yourself short, Pete,” Mike said, sitting down next to him and patting his shoulder. “I don’t think Davy would let you stop talking to him. He’s pretty fond of you, and he’s a persistent little shit.”

“What do I do, Mike?” Peter asked desperately.

“That’s for you to figure out,” Mike said, much to Peter’s dismay. “But it might be easier than you think … You wanna know something?”

Peter nodded.

“Me and … Me and Micky, we’re uh,” Mike stuttered. “We’re an … _item_ now _,_ I suppose. So, trust me I think things will work out for you, shotgun. Just try being honest with him when you’re comfortable enough to do that.”

Peter nodded again. Mike patted him on the shoulder once more, then went back inside. Peter followed him, already beginning to try desperately formulating a plan to impress Davy.


	4. Peter Gets Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fruity adventures of Peter Tork and Davy Jones

Time and time again, Peter set out to woo Davy, and time and time again he failed.   
  
There was the time he invited Davy to see a movie with him, only to find out it was a double feature horror flick. Peter had been so terrified that at one particularly scary moment he jumped in shock and spilled popcorn all over his lap, the seat and the floor. He didnt want to be a bother to the teenaged employee who would have to clean up his mess, so he ducked down to pick up the spilled food (taking advantage of the darkness that hid his burning red face). Davy had said it was fine, but Peter still spent the rest of the movie simultaneously sullen with embarrassment and shaking in his boots.   
  
Rollerskating wasnt much better. Peter had taken Davy to the roller rink one night, but had only ended up revealing how clumsy and ungraceful he was compared to Davy, who glided around the rink with ease. Davy took pity on Peter, and held onto Peter's arm to help him stay balanced, but that had only served to make Peter more nervous and self conscious. It was only a matter of time before Peter was toppling over and taking Davy with him. Peter wanted to go home then and there.   
  
They couldn't even go to the park together for a walk without being swarmed by pigeons. Peter found himself once again having feathers plucked from his hair as he complained about his predicament to Mike and Micky.   
  
However, Peter never gave up hope.   
  
There was a carnival that weekend and Peter was determined to make things work. He spent a long time trying to get his hair just right (though it looked the same as it always did), and Davy watched on with concern as he spent a long time standing silently in front of his dresser deciding on a shirt to wear.   
  
The day had been going fine so far - they hadn't gotten into a car accident on the way there, nobody had fallen off of a ride, and nobody had choked on any corn dogs. So far.   
  
The sun was starting to set, as the multicoloured glow of lights from rides and stalls replaced the natural light of the day. Micky was practically bouncing off the walls (or he would be, if they weren't outside), and showed no signs of slowing down any time soon. He was dragging Mike along ahead of them, while taking bites from a stick of cotton candy. He offered some to Mike, who begrudgingly took it with a sheepish smile and red face.   
  
"Do you want to go on the ferris wheel?" Peter asked Davy, tugging at Davy's sleeve after finally having gotten up the nerve. He pointed with his thumb at the towering ferris wheel they had passed.   
  
"Sure," Davy shrugged. "Hey fellas wanna come on the ferris wheel with us?"   
  
"I wanted to go to the house of mirrors," Micky pouted at Davy, then winked in Peter's direction. "Can you come with me, Mike? Please, please, please?"   
  
Mike pretended to put up a fight by rolling his eyes as Micky tugged on his sleeve. Then he gave in and said, "Yeah, I'll come with you," with a smile.   
  
"We'll meet back at the popcorn stand," Mike said to Davy and Peter, before walking off with Micky, who was skipping over to the house of mirrors.   
  
Peter smiled and tugged Davy along to the ferris wheel, who started in surprise at suddenly being pulled.   
  
The ferris wheel wasn't a remarkably large one, but it was the biggest Peter had ever seen. He hadn't ever been on one before, but he had heard that they were supposed to be romantic. He wasn't exactly convinced as he stepped into the rickety enclosed cage and took one of the worn metal benches that was on either side of the cage. Davy sat beside him and the cage dipped downward slightly with his weight. Peter gulped.   
  
"Are you nervous?" Davy asked.   
  
"Kind of," Peter admitted with a shy little chuckle. He felt his stomach suddenly drop as the ride creaked to life. He gripped the bench as the cage swung back and forth once the wheel started turning. "Maybe a lot."   
  
They weren't very high, as the ferris wheel had to stop again to let more people on. Peter shortly adjusted to the abrupt start and stop and was feeling a little more comfortable after the initial shock.   
  
"I think I'm okay now," he said, but then the ride started moving again and he felt his stomach drop once more. One hand snapped up to grip onto Davy's wrist. "Oh god."   
  
"It's okay," Davy assured him. "You won't fall out. It's safer than it looks."   
  
Peter nodded quickly but didn't let go of Davy's wrist.   
  
Their cage only rose higher and higher, and once it stopped at the very top, Peter gripped Davy's wrist tighter and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. That only served to make him feel queasy, as it gave him the sensation of floating untethered in the air very, very far from the ground.   
  
"Peter, you're hurting me," Davy told him. Peter had gotten carried away. He immediately released his grip on Davy, looking away out of guilt (and immediately realising this was a bad idea as he saw just how high they were). The knuckles of the hand that was still gripping the bench somehow grew whiter.   
  
"Sorry," Peter mumbled, as Davy shook out his hand and massaged his wrist. After a few seconds of this, Davy spoke again.   
  
"Here," he said, taking Peter's hand again and entwining their fingers together. It only made Peter feel queasier.   
  
"Thanks, Davy," Peter said quietly, blushing a bright shade of red. It was darker up there, and he hoped it was too dark to see his face well, because Davy was staring at him intently. The ride didn't stop again, and that was almost worse. Peter tried to get used to it but every time the wheel went up, up, up high into the air only to go down, down, down, he only grew more nauseous. Davy's hand in his wasn't helping. "I really blew this, huh."   
  
"What d'you mean?" Davy asked. Peter shook his head.   
  
"It's nothing, I just," Peter started. "I just keep ruining things. By getting scared and by being clumsy and stuff. You should be having a good time."   
  
"I am having a good time," Davy stated. "I like hanging with you, Peter. I like you. We're friends."   
  
The ferris wheel stopped at the bottom. Davy quickly let go of Peter's hand as a man unlocked the cage and they stepped out.   
  
"Excuse me for a second," Peter said, then ran for the nearest bush to throw up behind. Davy waited for Peter with a sympathetic wince.   
  
Once he was done, he stumbled back to Davy, wiping his mouth and looking absolutely crestfallen.   
  
"Are you okay now?" Davy fretted, placing his hands on Peter's upper arms. "We should go get you some water and maybe a candy apple. Apples always make me feel better when I'm sick, so the principle must be the same with candy ones."   
  
"I'm alright," Peter sighed. Davy was used to seeing Peter look bright - he had never seemed so low (not since Davy had almost been kicked out of the band, at least). "I'm just going to go to the bathroom. I'll see you at the popcorn stand."   
  
Peter trodded off before Davy could argue. Davy thought he should go with him, but he took him at his word that he just needed the bathroom. Besides, he felt that this was his own fault, though he wasn't sure exactly what he did. He didn't think his presence would help Peter much; he was of the belief that sometimes you just needed to be on your own.   
  
Davy made his way to the popcorn stand to wait. Micky and Mike weren't back from the house of mirrors yet, so Davy bought some popcorn. He had almost eaten a full box by the time he saw them.   
  
Micky was laughing and joking loudly about something with animated movements. Mike waved to Davy and Davy waved back.   
  
"Where's Peter?" Mike asked while Micky bought two popcorns for the both of them.   
  
"He was feeling nauseous so he went to the bathroom," Davy shrugged.   
  
Mike didn't seem to be perturbed by it, so the three of them ate their popcorn together for a while until Micky spoke up.   
  
"I'm getting a little worried," he said, chewing his lip. Mike nodded.   
  
"We can go look in the bathroom," Davy suggested, and the other two silently agreed as they walked as a group to find Peter.   
  
"Peter?" Micky called, ducking into the public bathroom and peeking around. All of the stalls were empty. Micky turned back around to find Mike and Davy, who were waiting outside. "He's gone."   
  
Davy's eyebrows shot up while Mike chewed worriedly on the nail of his thumb.   
  
"W-Well what do we do?" Davy stuttered, his voice growing a fraction more frantic. "He could be anywhere!"   
  
"We'll go back to the popcorn stand," Mike said, acting calm as he placed a hand on Davy's shoulder. "We probably just missed him."   
  
Except Peter wasn't there either. Davy didn't say anything, just gave Mike a concerned look.   
  
"We'll split up and look for him," Mike said, gesturing with a pointed finger. "Retrace your steps, and we'll meet back here every half hour."   
  
Davy scoured the fair ground, the ferris wheel, the house of mirrors, the corndog stand and anywhere else they had been that night. He ran into Micky and Mike a few times, but never Peter.   
  
It was getting very, very late when the remaining monkees reconvened for the last time. Mike was the last to arrive and Davy squinted into the distance as he approached, trying to see if Peter was with him. He wasn't.   
  
"We've looked everywhere," Micky noted. Even Micky, who preferred to make jokes than show he was worried about something, was beginning to sound anxious.   
  
Mike continued to chew on his thumb nail, silently looking for an answer. Neither Micky nor Davy interrupted his train of thought, but waited with baited breath for Mike to say something. But he didn't have to, as eventually, an answer came in the form of a tall kid with a small stack of flyers.   
  
The kid approached them and cleared his throat, making Micky, who hadn't seen him coming, jump.   
  
"You three seem cool," he said as a greeting. Davy frowned at him, but he didn't seem to notice. He handed Mike a flyer. "I'm having a party tonight, if you want to come."   
  
Then he strode away without another word. The monkees crowded around the flyer Mike was holding - it was an invitation for the party, with an address written on it.   
  
"I think I know that neighbourhood," Micky said.   
  
"Do you want to try it?" Davy asked the group. "See if that's where he went?"   
  
"We've combed the entire carnival," Mike shrugged. "We might as well try."   
  
And so they went, with Mike driving them and Micky pointing out where to go and when to turn.   
  
Eventually they pulled into a large house that had a cacophany of sounds coming from the interior - people talking and singing, music playing from a jukebox, and the muffled thud of a fair amount of feet dancing together. There were people splayed out on the front deck and the lawn along with the litter that accompanied them (mostly in the form of crumpled beer cans).   
  
"You think this is the right place?" Micky joked. Neither Mike or Davy replied, as Davy was too busy leaping out of the car, and Mike was too busy watching him.   
  
"You two wait in the car, I'll go find Peter," Davy said. His accent got thicker when he was stressed, and now was no exception. Davy was trying to downplay how he felt about the whole situation, but it was giving him away.   
  
Micky seemed a little disappointed that he wasn't able to snoop around inside and check out the scene, but he didn't have much chance to argue as Davy was already marching towards the front door.   
  
The front entrance of the house was packed like sardines, and Davy had to shove past people to get through to the main room. No Peter in sight. He gave a quick, grumpy sigh and charged forward into the kitchen. Peter wasn't there either.   
  
People were smoking and drinking everywhere - Davy was offered joints and beers and cigarettes a couple of times, which he waved off as he kept on searching. People asked him where he was going but he could hardly hear them over the music and wasn't in the mood to stop for a chat. It seemed a waste of a perfectly good party invitation, but he was dead set on his goal of finding Peter and going home.   
  
Peter wasn't in the backyard either, though Davy stayed out there a little bit longer just to breathe in the clean air. After a moment he was ready to go back inside and upstairs.   
  
Upstairs were only bedrooms and a bathroom, and Davy was apprehensive to look in any of them for fear of walking in on somebody. It was a little quieter, so he asked some people who were waiting for the bathroom in the hallway if they had seen anyone that looked like Peter. Some of them thought they had, but hadn't noticed where he had went.   
  
Luckily for Davy, most of the bedrooms that were in use were locked. He didn't know how lucky that was if Peter was in them, but at least he would be saved from an awkward moment or two. He finally found one that was open, and cautiously peeked inside. There were two people in there, sitting on the floor and talking.   
  
"Peter?" Davy called from the door. "Are you in here?"   
  
"Davy?" Peter called back. Davy's shoulders slumped with relief as he stepped properly into the room.   
  
"We've been looking everywhere ... " Davy trailed off as he took in the image before him. "Peter, who's this?"   
  
The second person in the room was a boy practically in Peter's lap with an arm around him. The boy had obviously been flirting with him, though Davy wasn't sure Peter had picked up on it, considering the nonchalant way Peter was reacting to being walked in on. He didn't move at all, nor did he have an ounce of embarrassment in his expression. Davy's cheeks flushed red with a strange rush of anger that surprised him.   
  
"Woah, is he your boyfriend?" The boy asked, seeming to pick up on Davy's mood and separating himself from Peter awkwardly.   
  
"I'm not," Davy snapped, grabbing Peter's sleeve. "Come on, let's go."   
  
The boy sat on the floor, staring at them with wide eyes and blown pupils. Davy pulled Peter with him as he marched out of the room.   
  
"Peter, I don't care if you're into blokes," Davy lectured as they walked to the car. "But we were really worried about you being lost. And did you even know that guy was into you?"   
  
"He wasn't into me, David," Peter said innocently. "We were just talking. Like pals."   
  
"He was all over you," Davy argued.   
  
"So are you," Peter pointed out. Davy stopped in his tracks. "And like you said, we're friends."   
  
It wasn't the first time Davy had to wonder if Peter was aware of the implication of what he had said, and was doing it purposefully, or if his bluntness sometimes just revealed things without him realising. It sure felt like a dig at Davy, but his matter-of-fact way of saying it, and his expression that was void of malice or sarcasm revealed nothing. Davy wanted to argue, but he had no argument that was fully formed in his head, only flustered spluttering.   
  
"That's different," Davy insisted, before continuing to walk to the car. But for the rest of the night he remembered the bout of jealousy he had upon seeing the boy with his arm around Peter and he couldn't quite believe his own words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second last chapter what it do


	5. Mike Gets To Have Another Dad Moment

Davy was glaring at the ceiling, his arms crossed over his chest. He could hear Peter lightly snoring from the bed across the room, but Davy refused to look over, no matter how much he wanted to.

It was unlikely that anything bad would have happened. They had all gotten into scrapes before and come up fine on the other end, and Peter could easily find his way home on his own. _But still. And yet. Despite this._

Davy was rather embarrassed with the way he had worried.

The other two monkees had worried, sure, but that fact didn’t persuade him to stop scrutinising himself so heavily. Because he had a unique problem the other two didn’t: the boy Peter was with.

Even in their own room, far removed from the party, Davy was still angry at this kid he hardly knew. He had hated him from the very moment he saw them in that room, and no rational part of his brain could convince him to stop. And the way that Peter didn’t seem to even realise what was happening, _god_ it made Davy seethe! He laid on his bed, fighting back and forth with himself over it for a long while, and got nowhere. Part of him just wanted to let himself be angry without thinking too hard. The other part told him it was unfair to judge a stranger like that. A quieter part of him was asking why he even felt the need to be angry in the first place.

Eventually he was exhausting himself with the back and forth in his head, and almost had no choice but to start listening to that quieter part – he had already tried to sleep it off.

Ultimately, underneath his resentment, he felt like he had messed something up with Peter somewhere along the line. Peter was usually so open about everything, but he had acted like he couldn’t get away from Davy sooner. Obviously, he was embarrassed about being sick, but he had also said that he had ruined everything, and Davy couldn’t understand that. He had never once in his life thought that Peter ruined anything.

His train of thought of thought travelled on to the time he spent with Peter, which was arguably better than the constant bickering that occupied his thoughts just a minute earlier, even if it did come with a strange new feeling that pulled at the back of Davy’s mind.

He remembered how jumpy Peter was during the horror movies they watched together, and how he had realised how endearing that was to him. He could hardly remember what the movie was about, now that he thought about it, because he had been so preoccupied with periodically glancing at Peter to check if he was doing alright. He offered Peter his popcorn when he had really just wanted to put his arm around him. But he didn’t.

He remembered roller skating, and how they had both fallen down together and they had spent far too long crumpled on top of one another laughing their faces off over it. Peter’s face was bright red when Davy finally peeled himself from him and offered him a hand to help him up. He spent the rest of the day smiling.

They had hardly spent a second at the park before they had to sprint back home to avoid a pack of pigeons. He remembered Peter grabbing his wrist and dragging him along, and he was running so fast he was wheezing, but if he could have laughed through his gasping breaths he would. He enjoyed them – the mishaps that occurred when they were together. He couldn’t understand why Peter seemed so ashamed of it all. Even on the Ferris wheel when Peter was gripping his hand so tightly that he could hardly feel his fingers, Davy was still happy because he was holding Peter’s hand.

He didn’t know when it had happened, but it suddenly occurred to him that he had been in love with Peter.

Davy shot up in his bed. He finally looked over to the boy on the other side of the room; Peter was still asleep. He swung both legs over the side of the bed and stood up. The light in the kitchen was shining underneath the closed door, signalling that either Mike or Micky was awake.

Creeping out into the kitchen, he saw that both Micky and Mike were both on the couch drinking tea. Micky had his head on Mike’s shoulder, and when Davy cleared his throat, Mike startled, knocking Micky off and spilling some tea.

“Mike, I, um,” Davy started quietly, looking downward. It was the shyest either of them had ever seen him. “I need help with something.”

“Am I allowed to stay?” Micky asked, one eyebrow raised. Despite his fidgety and awkward state, Davy was never one to pass up an opportunity to tease Micky.

“I don’t know, babe,” Davy joked with an eye roll, though he still had a sense of apprehension about him. “Unless you want to hear me complain about you for about –“ Davy tipped his head and checked his watch “ – twenty minutes, at least.”

Micky gave a fake laugh. “ _Fun_ -ny,” he said, and stayed put. Davy really didn’t mind Micky staying, though he did worry about Micky not being able to keep his big mouth shut.

“Sit,” Mike told Davy, ignoring the back and forth of obscene facial expressions that was occurring between Davy and Micky. Davy sat on the chase lounge across from the pair, with his hands in his lap. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s about Peter,” Davy said and chewed on his lip. Mike’s eyebrows furrowed.

“What about him?” Mike asked. “Did he get hurt tonight, or is he sick, or what? He didn’t take anything at that party, did he?”

“No,” Davy shook his head. He brought his thumb to his mouth and started chewing on the edges of his fingernail. “It’s more about me, really.”

Micky leant backwards, his arm resting on top of the couch behind Mike’s shoulders.

“Of course, Pete’s fine, Mike. At least, he’s no stranger than he usually is, I mean,” Micky scoffed. He didn’t seem like he was taking this seriously at all, but then he nodded to Davy and said, “Come on, Davy, let it out. You can trust us.”

Davy smiled softly. “It’s just, um, at the party,” Davy said. “There was this bloke who was with Peter, and seeing them together … I don’t know, it just made me mad and then I got to thinking and …”

Micky had caught on faster than Mike had. While his eyebrows raised in surprise, Mike’s were still furrowed in confusion.

“I’m hung up on Peter,” Davy finished, and Mike finally connected all the dots. He immediately turned to Micky, and they gave each other a look that Davy couldn’t decipher the meaning of.

“For real?” Mike asked.

“I’ve got it bad, Mike,” Davy chuckled awkwardly. He looked between the pair of monkees on the sofa. “You’re not gonna, y’know … kick me out or beat me up for it or anything?”

They gave each other another look that seemed to communicate everything they needed to, but Davy was still completely lost as to what they were thinking. Davy suddenly realised this was a bad idea. He didn’t know how either of them would react, yet he had come out here without even thinking and told them both about his feelings for their friend. But then Mike gave a breathy chuckle.

“Of course we wouldn’t, Davy,” Mike assured. “We actually – “

“Mike and I are dating,” Micky interrupted quickly, squeezing Mike’s knee. He was speaking so quickly that Davy almost missed what he said.

“Oh.” Davy said, almost in a daze. “Huh. We’ve paired off. Does Peter know?”

“ … Yes – “

“How come you told him first?” Davy exclaimed, almost immediately after Mike had spoken.

“We’ve known him longest, it’s his God-given right,” Micky shrugged, with a smug grin.

“It just kind of came up.” Mike said seriously.

“How?” Davy asked. Mike considered telling Davy about Peter’s mutual crush, and Micky obviously did the same. But both ultimately came to the conclusion that it would be funnier to just let them be.

“That’s confidential, shotgun,” Mike said with a smirk. “What matters is that you talk to Peter.”

“But what if he doesn’t feel the same way?” Davy asked, chewing his bottom lip.

“It’s Peter,” Mike shrugged. “What’s the worst that can happen.”

“Ugh,” Davy groaned at Mike’s lack of concern, but mostly because he was right. Davy left for his room, shutting the door behind him.

Micky slapped Mike’s chest.

“You’re a devil,” Micky chided.

“I didn’t see you rushin’ to tell him,” Mike defended himself.

Micky smiled sheepishly and gave Mike a peck on the mouth. Mike could feel him grinning against his lips.

Inside the bedroom, Davy tried to make out Peter’s sleeping form in the darkness.

“Peter,” Davy hissed. “Peter are you awake?”

But no answer came back. Davy crawled into his own bed and tried to sleep.

A week passed and Davy was still unable to talk to Peter. _This is ridiculous._ He thought. _I’m supposed to be the heartthrob._

But it seemed for the first few days Peter hadn’t recovered from the embarrassment of the night at the fair, and Davy hardly saw him. A thought worried at the back of Davy’s mind: had Peter figured out how Davy felt after that moment at the party and hated him for it? No, Peter wouldn’t be so cruel. And yet, Peter wouldn’t meet his eyes. And yet, he always acted flustered around Davy. And yet, he wouldn’t talk to Davy anymore. _And yet, and yet, and yet._ Davy decided he should just keep his mouth shut.

But, like moths to a flame, they found each other again, eventually. They couldn’t stay away very long, especially since they lived together and shared a room together, but also because they both seemed to naturally fall into one another.

Their unspoken reconciliation came one morning, when Davy stumbled into the kitchen, bleary eyed and dazed from having just woken up. He grabbed a plate from the cabinet for his breakfast and only a few moments later he heard a light _plop_. He looked down at the plate to see a piece of toast had dropped onto it. And there Peter was, on the other side of the kitchen, looking pleased at his aim.

“Bullseye,” he grinned, then turned to make himself another piece of toast.

 _He didn’t have to give me his toast,_ Davy thought, but he didn’t say it. He thought about telling Peter he loved him. But he didn’t say that either. Instead, he silently buttered his toast.

From that point on, Peter seemed to have forgotten all about the grudge he had been holding. They got along just like they always had, and still Davy couldn’t come out and say it.

A week had passed since the night at the fair, and Davy was swimming at the beach. It was late afternoon, and a girl was talking to him, and for once he was completely disinterested. And just like the day they first met, there was Peter, strolling towards him, and he seemed to forget all about the girl who was trying so hard to get his attention. He hadn’t meant to be rude. He had just gotten caught up.

There were hardly any people on the beach at that time – it was just about to get dark, and most people were packing up and going home. But Davy and Peter had nowhere to be, so they stayed with each other. Until it started to rain.

“We should go back inside,” Peter suggested, squinting at the sky, hand held out as he felt the first few drops of rain. “It looks like it’s gonna get heavier.”

“I think we should stay,” Davy said, trying to find an excuse for them to spend more time together. Half an hour wasn’t enough. “It’ll be like being kids again, playing in the rain. It could be fun.”

Peter looked sceptical, but he didn’t argue. They walked along the shoreline together, talking. Just as Peter predicted, the rain only got heavier, beginning as a slight drizzle until it was pouring down on them. The water flattened their hair to their faces and caused Peter’s ears to stick out from his hair slightly.

“Your ears,” Davy pointed out, and reached up to playfully pinch one. Peter blushed, smiled sheepishly, and adjusted his hair to cover them.

“I don’t like them very much,” Peter said.

“Why?” Davy asked. “I think they’re lovely.”

Peter shook his head and smiled brightly. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone call ears ‘lovely’.”

“Have now,” Davy pointed out. “You can cross that off your bucket list.”

They continued to walk together, feeling the wet sand move beneath their toes.

“What do you even do to ‘play in the rain’?” Peter eventually asked.

“Same thing you always do, it just feels different,” Davy explained. Then he shrugged. “Maybe the threat of my parents calling me inside made it seem more fun when I was little. Like I was doing something I wasn’t supposed to.”

“I never really liked the rain,” Peter said, scrunching up his nose. He frowned up at the sky and got a massive drop right in the eye in return.

“Growing up in England, you get used to bad weather,” Davy said, laughing a little at Peter wiping water from his eye. “C’mon, what did you do to have fun when you were a kid?”

“I think I just ran around, mostly,” Peter shrugged. “I didn’t have many friends to do things with.”

“Well, come on then,” Davy said, linking their arms together and pulling Peter along with him. Peter beamed down at Davy, but soon Davy was going too fast and they had to untangle their arms from each other, or they would topple over. The rain beat down on them as they chased each other around the beach, leaving footprints in the sand everywhere they went. At some point Peter tripped over his own feet and landed face first. Davy stopped running to laugh at him, as Peter rolled over onto his back and was laughing too. Once Davy was over his fit of laughter, he knelt down and brushed the sand from his face and hair. Peter sat up and the back of his shirt was almost completely covered in sand.

“You’re hopeless,” Davy teased, and Peter smiled widely. For once he didn’t look embarrassed.

Eventually, they had started making a sandcastle.

“See, it’s so much easier to do this in the rain,” Davy said, making a case for his pro-rain argument. “Everyone knows wet sand is best for making sandcastles.”

Then Davy finally surveyed their surroundings as Peter was busy digging a moat. It was getting late, it was still raining, and there wasn’t another soul besides them on the beach. They were completely alone.

“We have the entire beach to ourselves,” Davy noted. Then he looked back to Peter and held out his hand. “Peter, come with me.”

“But the sandcastle,” he said. “It’s not finished.”

“ _Please,_ ” Davy begged. Peter was easily convinced, and finally took Davy’s hand.

Davy pulled him behind a nearby sand mound that was big enough to cover Davy when he was sitting, but not Peter. Davy fiddled with the buttons of his shirt.

“I need to tell you something important,” Davy started. Peter looked concerned and strangely serious.

“What is it, David?” Peter asked.

The use of his full name made him flustered. There was no way he would be able to get the words out. Instead, he pulled Peter closer towards him by the collar of his shirt, feeling small grains of sand beneath his thumbs. His lips parted as he leaned in. At the last minute, his eyes flicked back up from Peter’s lips to look into his eyes.

“Can I?” Davy whispered. At the slightest nod of Peter’s head, Davy was grabbing the sides of Peter’s face, closing the distance between them and crushing their lips together. Davy’s eyes were squeezed shut, afraid he would open them and find Peter looking angry. But then Peter hugged him closely, one arm around his shoulders, one hand in his hair, and Davy practically melted.

They finally pulled away from each other.

“Davy?” Peter asked. He looked stunned and confused – like he couldn’t quite decide if he was dreaming or not.

“I fancy you, Peter,” Davy said simply. Peter’s eyebrows shot up.

“You do?” He asked. Davy frowned incredulously at Peter. Then he broke out into a smile.

“I’ve never been surer of anything,” he said, then pulled Peter in for another kiss.

From inside the monkees’ pad, Micky was nudging Mike with his elbow as he tried to get a good angle from the window. Mike got out of his way, and stood behind him on his tippy toes, his hands resting on Micky’s shoulders.

“I can’t see,” Micky complained. “Are they kissing.”

“I think so,” Mike answered.

Micky turned his head towards Mike and grinned impudently.

“About time,” Micky said.

“Told you they’d get there on their own,” Mike bragged.

Micky and Mike let Davy and Peter be as they stopped spying, high fiving as they left the window ledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> extremely cheesy but yeah woo last chapter this is finally done

**Author's Note:**

> my writing is too formal so i really can't write well for this kinda story but eh whadda hell just posting this because i really dig the micky/mike dialogue , next chapter is gonna have some Hijinks, baby


End file.
